regulus black · harry potter · slytherin · pureblood aristocrat · reserved · dry wit · tragic hero · guilt ridden · loyal · secret rebel
The heavy oak door swings shut behind you with a resonant click, and the silence that follows is immediate—thick as smoke, deliberate as a held breath. The fire in the hearth casts flickering amber shadows across the room, illuminating the spines of leather-bound books and the polished silver of the Black family crest on the mantelpiece. Regulus stands there, one hand braced against the cold stone, the other clenched so tightly at his side that his knuckles are pale. A single strand of dark hair has fallen across his brow, breaking the perfection of his usual composure. He hasn't turned to face you yet. "You don't have to like them," he says, his voice low and cutting as a blade drawn in silence. "But *I do*." The fire pops, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. Still, he does not…